


Appalling Love

by thedropoutandthejunkie (elenajames)



Series: Exquisite Red [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Dark, F/M, M/M, Necrophilia, Other, Passing Thoughts of Suicide, Past Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 20:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6254125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love can make you sick, they say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Appalling Love

A crash is what wakes her. Panic response has her bolting upright in bed. It’s dark, so late, and an outcast hand reveals that Sam’s not in the bed. 

 

“Sam?” she whispers in the dark. Of course, no answer is forthcoming. She holds her breath, trying to be as silent as she can. There are more crashes, grunts, banging, and she half wants to call the police; would have, but Sam as an unexplained fear of cops. 

 

Jess waits until the banging stops, and slips out of bed. She’s thankful that none of the floorboards creak as she tiptoes down the hallway. She’s less thankful when she sees what’s happening on her kitchen floor. 

 

Sam’s pajama bottoms are rucked down his thighs, his face pressed against the floor. Another man looms over him in the dark, every bit as big and broad as Sam is, and there’s no question that they’re fucking. The men are angled just enough that neither of them have seen her yet; Sam’s facing away from the open door, and the man above him is too busy fucking Sam to look around. 

 

Jess is hurt, furious, and she nearly steps forward, ready to fight until Sam moans aloud. 

 

“Fuck,  _ Dean _ .” 

 

Dean. Sam’s beloved-yet-estranged older brother. Dean. 

 

Jess thinks she’s going to be sick. 

 

“Shh, Sammy. Don’t wanna wake the neighbors.” There’s teasing and lightness in the tone, underlaid with something dark that Jess doesn’t want to think about too closely. 

 

She wants to leave, wants to run, but Jess finds she can’t move. At least, not until Sam is scrabbling at the floorboards, letting loose that familiar growl  that means he’s coming. She tries to run then, and only ends up tripping over her own backpack in the hallway. 

 

There’s cursing, the sound of clothes being righted and the light flicks on before Jess can haul herself to her feet.

 

“Who the fuck is this, Sam?” Danger. That tone is full of rage and danger and Jess is trying to crawl backwards out of sheer instinct. 

 

“Dean. Don’t.” And why does Sam sound scared? 

 

“Why not, little brother? Huh? What about all the girls I had over the years that you sliced up? What makes you think this is different?” Jess screams when Dean lunges forward, big hand wrapping painfully tight around her ankle and dragging her forward. Another hand clamps down on her mouth, grinding her teeth against her lips, and Jess can taste blood. 

 

Silence. Only silence as Sam stares down at them, at Jess’ tearing eyes and his big brother pinning her to the floor. 

 

“We’ll get caught.” Jess is sure she can’t’ve heard right, no way did Sam just say that, but Dean’s already laughing. 

 

“That’s my boy.” Green eyes turn back down to Jess, dropping down to the cut up tee she’d slept in. Dean’s grin makes her skin crawl. 

 

“I always did like the Smurfs.” 

 

* * *

 

Sam’s hands shake as he helps Dean haul Jess up onto the bed. He wants, God, he wants so bad. But a tiny part of him, a part that had been held and caressed and  _ loved _ by Jess is screaming at him to stop. It’s not like Dean would anticipate it. No, big brother has no reason to think Sam would ever turn on him. One slice, that’s all it would take. 

 

But looking at Dean, picturing those bright green eyes glazed over in death, picturing freckled skin cold beneath Sam’s palms . . . he nearly retches at the thought. He’d rather die instead, pick up the gun he has hidden just beneath the edge of the bedframe and leave gray matter smeared on the walls. 

 

Jess . . . it hurts. Sam’ll admit it. He can’t deny, though, that his palms itch for the weight of his knife. He can practically smell the blood already, can feel it tacky-wet between his fingers. 

 

In the end, it’s not much of a choice. 

 

Jess is pretty, blood red staining the paleness of her throat and seeping into the stark white bedsheets around her. Her eyes are wide, faint tear tracks still glistening down her temples and on her cheeks. 

 

Dean’s got that glint in his eye, the one that’s existed ever since they started this, and suddenly Sam  _ wants. _

 

“Do it,” he breathes, copper thick in the air, rolling over his tongue. Dean actually looks surprised. “Go on, Dean.” 

 

Dean doesn’t question it. He strips, even if he looks confused that Sam is stripping and climbs on the bed with Sam’s girlfriend’s corpse. She’s loose and pliable, so Dean can arrange her as he wants, hiking pretty, tanned legs up around his waist. 

 

Sam lets him settle, then clambers up behind, shoving Dean face down onto Jess’ chest. Blood isn’t great lube, drying quickly, so Sam spits on Dean’s hole as he shoves two fingers in. Dean’s tight; clearly, he’s gone a while without, and the thought makes something inside Sam curl in satisfaction. He shoves in with a bit more spit, relishing in the choked groan his thrust draws from Dean. 

 

There’s no hope for Dean lasting long. He ruts desperately into Jess’ cooling body and grinds backwards onto Sam’s cock. He’s surrounded by blood and loose, warm flesh. Sam can feel when Dean comes, and makes a point of fucking him harder through it. Both bodies below him rock with his thrusts, and the headboard bangs against the wall, deepening the grooves he and Jess had already fucked into it. 

 

“Son of a bitch.” Sam grits his teeth, pressing deep and digging his nails into Dean’s hips when he comes. It’s blindingly, achingly good, like it’s still going to hurt tomorrow. Hell, maybe it will. 

 

They shower together, scrubbing blood off of one another, learning each other’s bodies all over again now that Dean has more scars and Sam has more muscle. Dean prepares things as Sam packs his duffel. The fire catches quick, and half the building is gone before the fire department even arrives. 

 

Sam’s used to putting on a show, and playing the part of shattered boyfriend is no different. He rages, fighting Dean to get back to the building, then sobs in his brother’s arms. No one thinks to question it when Dean finally drags him away, bundling him in the Impala. 

 

They fuck again in celebration when the fire is ruled an accident.

  
  



End file.
